


Here's To the King!

by Jael (erynlasgalen1949)



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-30
Updated: 2011-09-30
Packaged: 2017-10-24 04:17:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erynlasgalen1949/pseuds/Jael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sweet, modest tale in which Legolas deals with a difficult prisoner in the dungeons and Thranduil gets a puppy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here's To the King!

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING!: Although this story could be rated at PG-13, there is some vulgarity. But don't blame me -- it's Darth Fingon's song.
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of derivative fiction based on the characters and world of JRR Tolkien. I merely borrow them for a time, for my own enjoyment and, I hope, that of my readers. I am making no money from this endeavor. The song quoted, 'Here's to the King,' or _Gler' i aran,_ belongs to Darth Fingon and is being used with his permission.

  
[   
](http://pics.livejournal.com/jael_beruthiel/pic/00017eg7/)   


 

Legolas spoke the secret password, opened the stone gates into the cave and bade the rest of his patrol a good night in the large corridor that served as the cavern's reception hall. The past week, out surveying the realm's boundary defenses, had been spent mostly in the saddle, and, not to put too fine a point on it, his backside was sore. Too tired even to eat, he looked forward to a hot bath to soothe the ache and then a warm bed.

Legolas made it halfway up the wide stone staircase to the upper chambers before being hailed by the captain of the Palace Guard.

"Prince Legolas, I am glad you have returned. There is a matter that requires your attention."

"Not now, Naruthír," Legolas said wearily. "Whatever it is, I shall deal with it in the morning."

"With all due respect, my Lord, this is urgent. We have a prisoner in the dungeons who has committed a very serious offense."

Legolas sighed. For the most part, his father's elves were a law-abiding folk, barring the occasional fistfight and excess of good cheer. "What is it this time, Naruthír? Someone had too much wine and wrote his name, or worse, in the snow? If it is too obscene, brush a branch across it before the women and children have a chance see it and let the poor fellow sleep it off. Can you not see that I am freshly in from duty and needful of my rest?"

"My Lord Prince, I fear his crime is far more serious than an overindulgence in drink."

Legolas turned and began to descend the staircase again. True violence was rare in the peaceful Silvan culture. "What has the fellow done then? Stolen a horse? Put a hand down a woman's bodice uninvited?"

"Treason, my lord."

Legolas snapped to attention. A threat to the defenses of the realm could be serious, although he sincerely doubted that any of the subjects could be so severely disaffected as to wish him or his father ill. "Treason?"

Naruthír pursed his lips censoriously. "Rather, the crime of lese majesty. I overheard him myself, roistering with the stable grooms and leading them in a most disrespectful song. I arrested him immediately and put him in the dungeons."

Legolas shut his eyes, feeling the beginnings of a headache on top of his fatigue. "Oh, for Elbereth's sake! This is no tyrannical realm that a man should be clapped into the dungeon for mere words -- and the singing of a song at that. What does my father say about this?"

"My Prince, the King cannot be located. We have searched his private apartments, his privy chambers, the library -- all to no avail. Master Galion says he often goes off alone for short periods of time. You must deal with this."

 _'Wonderful!_ ' thought Legolas. Just his luck that Thranduil should pick this night of all nights to take a solitary moonlit stroll in the forest, when all he himself wanted was to rest. "Oh, very well. What song did he sing, anyway?"

"My Lord, I hesitate to repeat such obscenity."

As the two of them walked together, they had descended into the lower reaches of the caves. "Out with it, Naruthír. There is no one about to be affronted by bawdy verse, and I am well past my majority."

"My Lord, you must first promise me that you will not take your anger out on me, for it is not my song. I am merely the messenger, and a reluctant one at that."

Legolas sighed. "Honestly, Naruthír, am I the sort to do such a thing? I order you -- sing it now."

Naruthír looked about furtively, cleared his throat and began to sing, in tones that suggested he had just sucked a pickle. " _'Gler' i aran; 'Gler' i aran; 'Gler' i aran . . ."_

"Well, that's not so bad for starters. It's rather sweet, actually. 'Here's to the king.' What could be wrong with that?"

Naruthír shot Legolas a dirty look and continued: " _Ho i chach-edh-roch; Herdir faigwain . . ._ "

Legolas bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. It wasn't every day he got to hear his father called a horse's behind. "I am sure that somewhere in this realm, at some time, some elf has felt that sentiment, albeit fleetingly. My Lord father does have a reputation for . . . thrift. No ruler can be popular every moment of the long Ages. I am sure he is mature enough to let such things roll off."

" _I weth-e-hu lab vaewain . . ."_ As he sang these words, poor Naruthír looked as if he were ready to make water in his breeches.

Legolas bit the other cheek -- hard, even though biting both cheeks at the same time made him look somewhat emaciated. He hoped Naruthír would ascribe this to the privations of a week out on patrol with little time to eat. "Now, that is just plain silly. My father does not even like dogs especially. Certainly not 'that' well. Everyone knows that."

" _'Gler' i aran; Ho i chach-edh-roch_ ," Naruthír finished miserably.

In his amusement, Legolas began to forget his weariness. "It is probably for the best that I am the one to hear and deal with this," he told the guard captain, striving mightily to keep a straight face. "However, Naruthír, I suggest you try to develop a sense of humor. This is very imaginative, and I suspect this poor fellow is very drunk indeed. Keep him in his cell overnight, and let him go when he has slept it off. I am going back to my bed."

"My Prince, there was another verse."

Legolas halted in his tracks, his shoulders slumping. "Oh, very well, if you must." Evidently Naruthír derived some kind of perverse pleasure from singing filthy songs and making his prince's life miserable, despite his outward show of embarrassment.

" _'Gler' ernil mîn; 'Gler' ernil mîn; 'Gler' ernil mîn . ._."

Legolas froze and turned slowly. If this unknown bard had the temerity to call Thranduil a horse's arse and a dog fellator, he felt some trepidation about what the next lines would contain concerning himself. But, he told himself, he was popular among the men. How bad could it be?

" _Ho i chuch-edh-roch . . ."_

Legolas narrowed his eyes. He'd rather have been the horse's arse.

Naruthír trembled as he sang the next line in a quavering voice. " _Gwethes dithwain . ._."

"What?!"

The flood of outrage made Legolas deaf to the next whispered line: " _I buch-e-hu medith' aen . ._." Fortunately.

"That is absolutely not true!" Legolas realised he was spluttering, but he was past caring. "And keep your voice down; these corridors echo!"

" _'Gler' ernil mîn; Ho i chuch-edh-roch . ._." Naruthír finished lamely.

"Oh, that does it! Who is this sorry knave that dares speak of me thus?"

"He gave his name as Randirion, my Lord, and he said he came from a settlement on the southern borders of the realm. I do not think I have ever seen him before, but it was hard to tell, for he refused to let down the hood of his cloak. He said he kept his head covered for religious reasons."

"And you let him get away with that feeble excuse?" Legolas had well and truly lost his temper, and any in his vicinity would have to bear the blast of it, just or not.

"My Lord," Naruthír stammered, "you know how strange the folk of the southern wood are. I had no reason to doubt . . ."

"Bah! Never mind. I will show him religion," Legolas fumed. " _Gwethes dithwain_ indeed!"

"All things are relative, my Lord," Naruthír began, but wisely trailed into silence when Legolas gave him a withering glance.

They had reached the level of the dungeon cells. The guards sprang to attention when met with the sight of their captain and Legolas. "Leave us. And give me that key!"

"My Lord . . . ?"

Legolas realized he looked wrathful enough to do serious violence, but for once in his long life he did not care. "Leave me!" he snapped, in tones worthy of Thranduil Oropherion's son. He put the key to the lock and turned it as the sound of the guards' footsteps died away.

The prisoner raised his head at the sound of the heavy door scraping open. He lay with one booted foot propped up on the bunk, but he returned it to the floor and stood up as Legolas entered. The strange elf was tall, and dressed in the simple homespun garb of a forester. The hood of his brown cloak remained up, covering his hair and casting his face into shadow.

"All right, Master Randirion; you will explain your insolent behavior to me this instant, although I doubt it will appease my anger. And lower your hood when I address you. I am your prince!"

"Indeed, you are my prince," said a familiar voice. The elf pulled back his hood, revealing a flash of bright golden hair and a sheepish smile.

" _Ada_?" Legolas gasped.

"Hush-shussshh!" Thranduil whispered, cutting his finger across his lips emphatically. "If they hear you my disguise will be spoiled."

"They are gone. I sent them away," Legolas muttered, still in shock.

"Planning to beat a prisoner in secret, eh? Tsk, boy, I raised you better than that."

"Of course not," Legolas hastened to say, although the thought had crossed his mind.

"Whatever you were planning, I am relieved to see you." Thranduil said. "I have been in this cell for almost a day, and although they fed me well, the mattress has lumps and I had no wine. If it had gone on much longer, I would have been forced to reveal my little trick."

"Little trick?" Legolas said blankly. "Father, what are you doing dressed like a commoner, and singing filthy songs to the stable hands, such that you get yourself clapped into gaol?"

Thranduil laughed. "What better way to get an honest view of how things are going in my realm than to walk out in it as one of my own subjects? People tend to lie to the king, my son, or at the very least, pretty up the facts, but one gets the unvarnished truth seeing it for oneself. I have learned the most astounding things seated at a campfire and passing round the wineskin."

"Have you ever heard yourself called a horse's arse or 'the meanest lord?'" Legolas asked sourly.

"At times, yes," Thranduil replied. "As long as they don't call me a fool or a coward, I am content."

"I suppose that explains the clothing and the deception -- but _Adar_ , what possessed you to sing that song? That is carrying verisimilitude a bit too far. Say such things about yourself if you will; it is your right. But me?"

"Eh?" said Thranduil. "What are you talking about?"

"That second verse. 'Here's to our prince?' Was that truly necessary?"

Thranduil looked at him blankly for a moment and then burst out laughing. "You thought . . .?"

"Naruthír told me you sang about the king and the prince. I know of no other prince in this realm," said Legolas, trying to keep the injured tone out of his voice. "I warrant they'll be singing it all over the Wood before the year is out."

" _Gwethes dithwain_. Oh, _Rodyn_ , that is too funny." Thranduil sank back down onto the bunk and laughed until the tears ran. "The song is a very old one, Legolas. Although, come to think of it, I had much the same reaction as you the first time I heard it. It was the end of the Second Age and our armies were camped outside the gates of Mordor, on the Battle Plain. I heard the most astounding noise coming from my father's pavilion, and I stormed in to see what scoundrel was slandering my father and me, only to find Oropher and Amdir of Lórien with a flask of wine between them."

"Grandfather sang . . . that?"

"Aye, and Amdir with him, and the two of them laughing like naughty boys. My father explained that he had learned the song when he was a scribe in Doriath for Elu Thingol, from a visiting guard of Finrod's, who'd had it from a _Golodh_ from the north, up in Eithel Sirion. The king in the song is Fingolfin. The prince was his son, Fingon. I take it they were not so well loved as we are. The name of the bard who wrote it, I know not, but I am in awe of his gift."

"I daresay," said Legolas, rather awed himself. How the elf had escaped drawing and quartering at the hands of the High King of the _Golodrim_ was a mystery.

"Of course Amdir immediately saw the humor in it -- Doriath having both a king and a prince. Rather an injustice to the king, although Thingol did have his moments of stinginess. From what I hear, he was quite tightfisted when it came to both his daughter and a certain piece of jewelry. It proved to be his downfall. The second verse, on the other hand, fit Celeborn perfectly."

Legolas raised an eyebrow.

Thranduil nodded sagely. "Oh, yes. It is well known." He patted the bunk beside him, smiling. "Sit, Legolas, you are giving me a crick in my neck."

Shaking his head, Legolas complied. Poor Celeborn! It was bad enough having such a thing bruited about, much less it being true.

"So the two of them, Oropher and Amdir, would sing it together in secret when they'd had much wine between them, back in the vanished days of Doriath," Thranduil continued. "And they sang it still on the cursed plain of the Dagorlad, the two of them drunk as two skunks in the mating season. It did my heart good, for I had not seen my father so merry in many a year. A week later both of them were dead."

"I deem you were rather merry yourself last night, _Ada_."

Thranduil shrugged. "Last night was the anniversary of the Dagorlad. I saw no better way to commemorate Oropher and Amdir than by enjoying a cup of wine with the men and singing the old songs. It was hardly a secret. _'Gler' I Aran_ was a popular tune in the Greenwood in years past. I am surprised Naruthír had not heard it, although he, like you, is one of the younger generation."

Legolas made a face. "Well, thanks to you, _Adar_ , the song will enjoy a renewal. _Ai, Gwethes dithwain_ \-- I shall never live it down."

"Oh, do try to develop a sense of humor, boy. No one ever thought that term applied to me, nor will they to you. Trust me on this. As for the rest . . ." He laughed and shrugged. "I am sure you are mature enough to let such a thing roll off."

"Truly, Father, I am tempted to leave you in here."

"And I am tempted to assign you to library duty for the next _ennin_. Now get me out of this cell."

"I will, if you will shut up so I can get you past the guards. I do not understand how they could have failed to recognise your voice."

"That part is easy," said Thranduil, pulling his hood up to hide his face, rising and walking to the door. "I just talk like this," he continued in a voice one octave higher and with a _Laegren_ lilt that put Galion's to shame. Along with the change in voice, he had altered his posture, making himself look at least two inches shorter.

Legolas followed, shaking his head. Suddenly, his father's uncanny knowledge of all that went on in the realm made so much more sense. "Eyes and ears in the trees, indeed! I know your secret now," he muttered.

They met up with Naruthír and the two guards partway down the corridor. "My Prince, where are you taking the prisoner?"

"Out into the forest, where I plan to tie him to a tree and shoot him," Legolas said peevishly. It had been along day, and now that the excitement was over, his fatigue had returned, bringing bad temper along with it.

Naruthír's eyes grew wide, and the two guards murmured. Beside him, Thranduil's shoulders began to shake with what Legolas hoped would be mistaken for fright.

"I am jesting, Naruthír," said Legolas tightly. "This elf has repented of his impertinence, have you not, Master Randirion?"

"Oh yes," sing-songed Thranduil in his high _Laegren_ lilt. "I promise I will never mock my betters again."

Legolas firmly resisted the temptation to step on his father's toe. "I shall take you into the wood and send you on your way back to your home. I suggest you stay there, for if King Thranduil should come upon you, knowing what you sang about him, it will not go well with you. He is not so forgiving as I."

Naruthír nodded earnestly, and the guards muttered, "Oh yes . . . quite the despot."

Thranduil snorted softly and Legolas took leave of Naruthír and the guards with a curt nod of his head. "Come along, you," he said, taking his father by the back of his cloak and hustling him up the tunnel. As they left, Legolas swore he could hear one of the guards softly whistling _'Gler' i Aran_ , and beside him, Thranduil hummed along in perfect harmony. Well, it was a catchy tune . . .

In that moment, he almost felt himself feeling sorry for poor Prince Fingon.

* * *

'Randirion' was never seen again in the northern part of the realm, nor in the southern part either. For years to come, Legolas often found Naruthír staring at him with a strange speculative look which he ultimately decided to ignore. A little fear in one's subordinates was not all bad. If ever Legolas heard the tune of 'Here's to the King' being hummed or whistled, he made it a point of going to the communal baths and bathing very publicly and very nakedly. Some rumors were best nipped in the bud.

On Thranduil's next Begetting Day, Legolas presented him with a Wolfhound puppy. Although he had not previously been fond of dogs, his father claimed to be delighted with the gift and thanked him profusely. After teaching the pup not to chase the palace cats, Thranduil declared its training complete, much to the dismay of poor Galion who had to clean up after it. The beast grew to the size of a small pony, spoiled several carpets and ate three of Thranduil's boots, but the King doted upon it until the end of its days.

The End

* * * * * * *

**Author's Note:**

>  **Translation:**
> 
>  _'Gler' i aran_ : Here's to the king  
>  _'Gler' i aran_ : Here's to the king  
>  _'Gler' i aran_ ; Here's to the king  
>  _Ho i chach-edh-roch_ ; He's the horse's arse  
>  _Herdir faigwain_ : The meanest lord  
>  _I weth-e-hu lab vaewain_ : The best at licking dog *privates*  
>  _'Gler' i aran_ ; Here's to the king  
>  _Ho i chach-edh-roch_ ; He's the horse's arse
> 
>  _'Gler' ernil mîn_ : Here's to our prince  
>  _'Gler' ernil mîn_ : Here's to our prince  
>  _'Gler' ernil mîn_ : Here's to our prince  
>  _Ho i chuch-edh-roch_ : He's the horse's *vagina*  
>  _Gwethes dithwain_ : The smallest penis  
>  _I buch-e-hu medith' aen_ : May he eat dog feces  
>  _'Gler' ernil mîn_ ; Here's to our prince  
>  _Ho i chuch-edh-roch_ : He's the horse's *vagina*
> 
> The 'unknown bard' who composed this charming song is Darth Fingon, and like Thranduil and Legolas, I am in awe of his gift.
> 
> This story arose out of a conversation with Darth Fingon after he had translated for me a highly disrespectful song in Sindarin that his Oropher had written about Fingolfin and Fingon. I got the following plot bunny and he gave me his gracious permission and encouragement to write it. Thank you Darth Fingon!
> 
> Thank you also to my beta reader for this story, IgnobleBard


End file.
